


settling the score

by AmnesiacFloozy (AlleyCatSunflower)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arguing, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, During Canon, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romantic Tension, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29214843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/AmnesiacFloozy
Summary: "My point is, if you put yourself in that kind of danger again, I'll kill you myself." Especially if it's for Dimitri, who may as well have abandoned all of them; Dimitri, the boar prince, who lost his heart as well as his mind.Ingrid glances momentarily skyward. "Just act like a normal person for once and tell me you care about me, Felix."Like any knight out of a storybook, Ingrid is more than willing to risk her life for king and country. Given the state of both, Felix doesn't appreciate that—especially since he asked her not to do anything reckless. Fortunately, when civil conversation has no effect, a good sparring session in the knights' hall never fails.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	settling the score

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on the outskirts of the Fire Emblem fandom for some time, but even though I've played and enjoyed a handful of games in the series by now, none of them ever made me feel like I had to _write_ something for them. Three Houses, however, gave me such a flood of inspiration that I wrote and posted this before I actually finished my first route (Azure Moon, of course). Thus, I apologize if I got anything blatantly wrong, and hope I could do these two justice!

It seems that they can never keep the peace for longer than a couple weeks at a time.

They're arguing again. This time, it's because Felix had the audacity to mention that Dimitri hasn't been himself lately, or perhaps because he dared to say that in this state, he's as dangerous to his allies as to his enemies. Five years ago, it would have been impossible to stop Dimitri from jumping in front of Ingrid if anyone threatened her, even if she was intentionally trying to draw the fire. Now, it fell to Felix to come to her aid instead.

Not that Ingrid was at all grateful for it. She took Felix's concern as a lecture, and his observation as criticism. At least she isn't the type to sulk and brood and give the silent treatment. People have tried giving Felix the silent treatment before, but that just makes it easier to ignore them and keep his distance.

Ingrid, however, stands and fights. Literally. It's after sunset, and they're both weary thanks to the journey back from Ailell, but that didn't stop her from challenging Felix to a duel to resolve matters. _We're going around in circles again_ , she said, a hard look in her eyes. _Let's have our weapons do the talking._

They stand in the knights' hall, breathing hard from exchanging blows more powerful than Felix expected. Though Ingrid shows no sign of redoubling her attacks, his eyes dart over her body in an instinctive scan for weaknesses. These days, it feels strange to see her without any armor, completely unprotected. There are too many vital points exposed, enough to pose something of a distraction.

"Tell me, Felix," says Ingrid, panting from the exertion, but Felix is pleased to see that she does not lower her lance. "When you look at me… do you see a helpless little girl… incapable of thinking for herself?"

"No," says Felix, shifting his stance, and makes an effort to regulate his breathing. "I see a pathetic excuse for a knight who thinks she knows everything, but can't even decide what she really wants." For Ingrid, the conflict between duty and desire has always been stronger than most. If she isn't careful, that's just as likely to get her killed as her recklessness.

"Oh, _I_ know everything?" exclaims Ingrid, and Felix sees from the way her lance moves that her grip on it has tightened. Her anger must outweigh her breathlessness, because she continues without a pause, "That's rich, coming from you—always telling everyone what to do and how to think. Leave that to His Highness and _shut up_!"

Felix has heard a great deal more offensive insults than that, but coming from Ingrid, those are fighting words… and they irk him more than any colorful turns of phrase. "Leave it to His Highness?" echoes Felix, his lip tugging up in an automatic snarl. "That wild boar isn't capable of anything other than murder, and you know it."

"You're wrong," says Ingrid, not troubling to keep her voice down. "He's still in there somewhere. He has to be."

Felix has known for years that Ingrid is beyond stubborn, but this kind of irrational insistence still makes him angry. "So you'll follow your heart, follow _him_ , blindly into a battle that gets you killed?" Ingrid does not respond. Felix knows she must be close to reaching her limit, if she's shutting down like this. "I'm sure he'll be devastated."

"Are you done?"

Ordinarily, this is the point at which Felix walks away. But for the first time, he wants to push Ingrid over the edge, see what her rage is like—see if she's capable of feeling the same kind of fury he felt at her betrayal. Even after Felix asked her not to risk serious injury on behalf of a comrade again, she was still willing to sacrifice herself to save Dimitri. A man who, at every opportunity since their reunion, has made it more than clear that he would gladly see them all dead if it meant sending one woman to join them.

Unforgivable.

"I haven't even started," says Felix, taking a step forward, and Ingrid brandishes her lance all over again. Good; so she isn't ready to lay down her weapon, either. "You think the height of valor is throwing your life away for a mad prince? Is that what you trained for, why you're still playing at being a knight?" He meets Ingrid's eyes and says the only thing he knows will hurt. "My brother would be disappointed."

" _Stop bringing Glenn into this_!"

Ingrid's retort is more like a battle cry than anything else, and she lunges. Felix thinks her emotionality will scatter her focus, but instead, she seems more resolute than ever. As he twists out of the way, she draws back and thrusts again, and he can barely dodge a second time. Incredible: in a state like this, she might actually beat him.

Forced onto the defensive, Felix concentrates on his footwork, staying light on his feet as Ingrid slices and stabs a few more times. Though he keeps an eye out for opportunities to strike, he is far more distracted than Ingrid, preoccupied with watching the ferocity of her expression. He manages to identify one of her feints, but not the next, as he finds her standing right next to him after he dodges. She must have predicted his movements, but lancers usually keep their distance. Why has she come so close…?

Felix gets his answer as Ingrid's hand slams into his face. It feels far more forceful than an ordinary slap, more like a punch than anything else, but her hand is open. It's enough to make him stagger, and he doesn't have time to straighten up again before she kicks him in the chest.

As Felix's back hits the ground, he loses his grip on his sword, and Ingrid kicks it out of the way. He tries to sit up and scramble after it, but Ingrid drops low and kneels over him, shoving his shoulder back into the floor with one hand and tossing aside her training lance with the other. "This isn't about Glenn," she says, breathing hard, and glares into Felix's eyes. "This is about you, and me, and where we stand."

Felix's only response is to let out a breath, half a chuckle, still getting used to the idea of having been defeated by _Ingrid_ of all people. Her frame is much smaller than her usual armor would suggest, but he supposes she's far from delicate. She's only a few inches shorter than him, and her muscles are more evident like this, well honed from swinging lances around all day. If Felix is being honest, she's probably just as physically strong as he is.

"Now, I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen," says Ingrid, scowling. "I'm sick of your fault-finding and… and _cynicism_. If you hate fighting alongside His Highness so much, then perhaps you should go home and lead the Fraldarius troops in Lord Rodrigue's stead." She smiles, but it feels more like being held at knifepoint. "There! Problem solved. You can stop complaining now."

That stings, much more than Felix likes to admit. "Go home?" he retorts, glowering, and shifts in place, but Ingrid isn't about to let him go. Her knees squeeze his waist, and she presses her other hand into his other shoulder, fingernails digging in. Apparently, they're going to have the rest of the argument just like this. "There are other people I care for here, and I don't trust anyone else to protect them."

"You don't trust anyone else at all."

"Trusting the wrong people can get you killed," says Felix, narrowing his eyes. "For example, when you put yourself in danger to make sure our enemies didn't go boar hunting, and I had to come rescue you. _He_ didn't so much as look your way."

"I could have handled them myself!"

Felix gives a faint growl of annoyance. This feels suspiciously like their last argument, only with their positions reversed. The thought sparks the beginnings of a plan, but he has to wait for the opportune moment to carry it out. "I know," he says, and relishes the way Ingrid's expression flickers. It's a rare sight, given her sense of resolve. "But it's better that _neither_ of us is wounded, right? Why are we fighting about this?"

Ingrid frowns, eyes faraway and wavering like candlelight. "I…"

Seizing his chance, Felix musters all his strength to dislodge her—wresting his arm from her grasp, slamming it into her side, and rolling her over. Now it's his turn to pin her down, his hands on her wrists, his knees on either side of her hips. She struggles at first, but then looks up at his face, and stops as if dazed. Felix can't read her expression, but at least it doesn't look like she's hurt.

"Now _you_ listen," says Felix, once he's confident that Ingrid isn't going to rekindle their fight. "I want you to follow your dreams, or whatever that worthless book said you should do, but not if that means you're going to die for the sake of a monster."

"He's not a—"

"I said listen," says Felix, and to his muted surprise, Ingrid falls silent. "Even you have to admit that the Professor can barely keep His Beastliness in check when he's like this, and that's with Gilbert and my fool of a father to help. Don't you dare die for him."

Ingrid scowls. "I never had any intention of dying."

"No one ever does," says Felix, more and more frustrated. "But we're fighting for Faerghus, and he's fighting for revenge. All I'm saying is, don't sacrifice yourself just so he can add more skulls to his collection." He sighs, glancing aside, and finds himself voicing a sentiment he's barely allowed himself to think. "The day your blood is on his hands is the day I leave the Kingdom altogether."

"Felix," says Ingrid, and her tone is much gentler than he expects—enough so that his eyes snap back to her face as soon as she speaks. "If you're worried about me, you can just say so. _Without_ speaking treason."

"Treason, is it, calling a beast what it is," mutters Felix, rolling his eyes, but soon fixes them on Ingrid's face again. Much as he'd like to dodge her implications, he has nothing to gain by it. "All right, yes. I'm… concerned… about your recklessness." He isn't accustomed to expressing what he feels; the words practically hurt his throat on the way out. "If you like following orders so much, here's one for you. Rein that in before it gets you killed."

"Who said I like following orders?" shoots back Ingrid, glowering. "I follow my heart."

Felix makes a derisive noise. "Which just so happens to follow that boar."

"Because it's what's best for the Kingdom!" exclaims Ingrid, body stirring with the force of her indignation, but Felix holds his position. "I may not agree with His Highness's methods, but I know that keeping him alive is essential to our victory. If the people hear of his return, it'll be easier to incite rebellion and cast out the Empire when the time comes—regardless of whether he's in his right mind. Until then, I can only keep faith that he'll come back to his senses."

Felix blinks a couple times, recalibrating. Even after so many years of knowing Ingrid, he mistook her acquiescence as agreement, failed to understand her reluctance. So she hasn't been blindly following Dimitri after all; rather, she intends to use him in the end. She's quite devious, in her way.

Whatever Felix was going to say, he forgets it immediately as Ingrid jolts to action beneath him. He doesn't even have time to react before she throws him aside, but overestimates her own strength. As her momentum carries her farther than she intends, Felix's body reacts on its own to steady her, hands resting on her waist rather than shoving her off.

After they regain their balance, they both freeze.

Ingrid's braid has come unpinned and hangs halfway down her back, several golden strands out of place. In that sense, it resembles Felix's argument. It feels as though all his anger has evaporated now that he knows that Ingrid is thinking of Faerghus, more than its prince, when she places herself in danger. Letting her continue to do so is a compromise, in Felix's estimation, but leagues better than permitting her to risk her life out of misguided loyalty to some version of Dimitri long buried.

"What are you doing?"

Felix only comes back to himself at the sound of Ingrid's voice. His eyes have fixed themselves sightlessly on her lips, and his hands have slid down to her hips. Her eyes are wary, but her expression is softer, more confused. Vulnerable. Felix wonders if he looks the same to her. "You can stop me if you like," he says, not knowing how to explain his actions, and tightens his hold on her.

"That's not an answer," says Ingrid, but does not swat his hands away. Felix knows better than to respond just yet, because her pursed lips and curious eyes tell him she has more to say. "Why were you looking at me like that?"

Felix feels the heat rise to his cheeks, but hopefully the light is just dim enough that it isn't too noticeable. "Like what?"

Ingrid shakes her head as if to say _never mind_ , but Felix thinks she's blushing as well. Damn. Maybe that means she can see him, too. "Just… wondering if you still see a pathetic excuse for a knight. That's all."

Slowly, Felix sits up, moving one arm to support himself, leaving the other on Ingrid's hip. She lets him, still kneeling, not moving even as the distance between them closes slightly. "Only because no real knight can live up to the stories you tell yourself. Not even my sainted brother."

Ingrid's breath catches. "Why…" she begins, but trails off, searching Felix's expression for something. Not knowing what she is looking for, he cannot hide it. "Why do you always talk about Glenn like this?" asks Ingrid eventually, and her hand twitches as if she wants to touch his face, but she doesn't. (Felix wishes she would.) "It must pain you, too, on some level. Why twist the knife?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore," says Felix, but he isn't sure how true that is. "I'll stop mentioning him when you stop idolizing him."

"I don't idolize him."

Felix sighs. "Call it what you like, but you're in love with his ghost."

Ingrid shakes her head. "I admired Glenn as a person, and… I liked what he hoped to become. I thought, as his wife, I could at least watch him live the life I wanted, even if I could never experience it myself." She lets out a breath. "It's true that I didn't have many misgivings about the idea of marrying him, but I never had the chance to fall in love. Nor did he, since I was so young."

"Given a few more years, the two of you would have made a worthy match," says Felix, but something about it doesn't feel right. He never gave it much thought before, but he can't get used to the idea of Ingrid as his sister. Or living under the same roof as a married couple. He'd have to get in the habit of going on long walks every night, just in case he overheard something…

That's an odd direction for his train of thought to go, but Ingrid thankfully cuts it short. "Maybe, but we might also have been _too_ alike," she says, and Felix gets the strangest feeling that she's trying to comfort him. "Either way, we'll never know, and I've made my peace with that. Glenn was a good man and a good knight, but… he's been gone for nine years." Ingrid meets Felix's eyes and, he thinks, speaks from the heart. "Don't use his memory as a weapon. Please."

"Then don't try to be something you're not."

Ingrid narrows her eyes, and her fingers curl into a fist. "A knight?"

Felix shakes his head. "A knight _in shining armor_." Not only is it currently impossible for Ingrid to fulfill her duty as the scion of House Galatea, as he once told her to do, but even Felix must admit that she is as capable a warrior as any. Still, she maintains an unhealthy interest in chivalry. Not to the point of obsession, like Ashe, but she has some difficulty separating fact from folktale. "You're just a woman with a lance, riding a pegasus."

"And you're just a man with a sword," says Ingrid, and—to Felix's surprise—gives a small smile. Weary, but genuine. "On foot."

The corner of Felix's mouth tugs up in return. "At least I never claimed to be anything else."

"You're insufferable," says Ingrid, giving Felix another shove, but she doesn't really mean it this time. He can tell, from her halfhearted scowl… and from the fact that his back isn't pressed to the floor again. "The point is, I'm not going to throw my life away, but it's still my duty to fight for Faerghus. And, more importantly, I know that that's what I want to do."

"On that much, we can agree," says Felix, and means it. He sees eye to eye much more easily with those who can best him in a good sparring session. "But _my_ point is, if you put yourself in that kind of danger again, I'll kill you myself." Especially if it's for Dimitri, who may as well have abandoned all of them; Dimitri, the boar prince, who lost his heart as well as his mind.

Ingrid glances momentarily skyward. "Just act like a normal person for once and tell me you care about me, Felix."

"I…" Felix swallows. He doesn't know why it's so difficult to say such a simple thing. Even telling Ingrid that he's concerned about her well-being seemed overwhelming. Admitting outright that he _cares_ about her feels almost like baring his heart; it's certainly racing fast enough.

Maybe it's because he does care. A lot. Too much. More than he ever imagined feeling about his late brother's fiancée; more than he can comprehend, in the moment. He hasn't acknowledged its source or nature, even internally, but it has been increasingly more difficult to redirect his tempestuous emotions into his training. It's easier on the battlefield, but worthy opponents are still infrequent.

"I'm not letting you up until you say it."

Felix frowns up at Ingrid, caught off guard by how badly she wants to hear it. Ordinarily, knowing what people want from him makes Felix inclined to do the opposite, yet with Ingrid… his resolve weakens at the earnestness in her expression. Felix is far better with a sword than with words, but there is no way around it: he must find a way to express the truth they both know deep down.

There must be a compromise in here somewhere.

On an impulse Felix has never felt before, he tucks his free arm around Ingrid's waist. She looks uncertain, but she does not try to push him away, even as he presses on her back to draw her slowly forward. She leans with him, moving closer, gaze darting from his eyes to his lips to the wall and back. Hope is not a familiar emotion to Felix, but it burns in his heart like fire. Perhaps she feels a similar way, emotions complicated and inescapable.

Ingrid's weight settles over Felix, and his breath hitches. "Ingrid, I…"

"Say it," whispers Ingrid, more a command than a request, and their eyes lock.

"I _care_ about you," says Felix, sliding his free hand up to the back of Ingrid's neck, and kisses her.

It isn't something Felix has thought about often. Ever since his school days, the concept of kissing has felt like something that doesn't apply to him—a waste of time, a shallow luxury he'd never want anyway. His feelings on the matter ranged from indifferent to disgusted, so he never got to the point of imagining it. But he must have had some preconceived notions all the same, because even without any conscious expectations, this somehow still isn't what he expected.

Ingrid's lips are soft and warm and tremulous at first, but their kiss soon becomes so intoxicating that Felix doesn't realize that his eyes have closed until they flutter briefly open again. And, when their lips part out of curiosity and instinct, a tentative deepening neither of them initiate consciously, he finds that she doesn't taste like anything at all.

They separate as one, shared breath a little more shallow… and then lean in again.

This time, Felix's hand slips to Ingrid's lower back, trying to draw her impossibly closer. As she takes his lower lip experimentally in her teeth, a faint hum reaches his ears, and he only recognizes it as coming from his own throat when he hears her responding sound. It makes his spine tingle and his skin prickle in a way he has only ever felt alone in his bed, those few nights he decides that fleeting pleasure—or easy sleep—is worth the mess and trouble.

That warning, perhaps, is why he pulls back.

When they move apart once more to catch their breath, Felix braces himself, expecting Ingrid to demand an explanation. But she simply looks at him, a small and distant smile touching her lips. Only as Felix notices it does he recognize that he is smiling as well, no more widely, but just as honestly. This must be what contentment feels like: tranquility, the eye of some unforeseen storm.

(But, as much as Felix enjoyed this calm, he's looking forward to the torrential rain.)

Ingrid is the first to speak, after a long and surprisingly comfortable silence. "Just… trust me, all right?" she asks, her voice as soft as her eyes, and rests her gloved hand on Felix's jaw to cup his face. He feels safe like this, inexplicably secure. "Even if you don't trust anyone else. That's all I ask."

"Fine," says Felix, his voice low in his throat. "Fine. I'll try. But you can't stop me from protecting you."

"No, I can't." Ingrid sighs as if in resignation, but her eyes are still affectionate, and she has not quite stopped smiling. "But you can't stop me from looking out for you, either. I care about you, too, and I want us to live through this war together." Her words are not a passionate declaration of love, but they're just as heartfelt, as good and solid as a promise. It's reassuring to hear that she is not any more given to wild, unstable desires than Felix is—particularly in the middle of a war.

For the first time in recent memory, Felix feels truly _understood_.

"We will," he says, with all the certainty of truth, and raises his hand to caress Ingrid's cheek. Even through his gloves, she feels so warm and alive. In the moment, Felix wants more than anything else to keep her that way. "Now… let me up."

"If you insist," says Ingrid, getting to her feet and offering him a hand. Before tonight, Felix never would have taken it, but this time, he accepts. Ingrid's smile widens as she pulls him to his feet, and once he's upright, her touch lingers on his hand a little longer than necessary. "Good night, Felix," says Ingrid quietly, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. "We should do this again sometime."

"Uh… yes," says Felix, caught in the middle of admiring her, and leans in to kiss her cheek. "Yes, we should."


End file.
